L & O: Literary Victim's Unit
by clueless in seattle
Summary: Please see Chapter 1/ Introduction for an explanation of this collection of stories
1. Chapter 1

**LAW AND ORDER: LITERARY VICTIMS UNIT**

**15****th**** April 2010**

_I've posted enough nonsense on the site over the last three years so from time to time I condense "one-shots" into a collection...strangely (?!?!?!?) there are people still reading them._

_Many thanks to everyone who reviewed them first time around and I'm sorry there is no way to preserve your comments which were usually better than the story._

_**All of the twaddle in this group has special occasions/events/holidays as the common theme (Valentine's/Christmas/New York Marathon etc)**_

CHAPTERS 2 -15 were published prior to the date above...if there ever is a Chapter 16 etc please accept my apologies in advance...the medication can't be working.

_Best Wishes_

_Clueless In Seattle_


	2. Bonfire Night

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…I told you to buy a proper leaf vac to use in the garden…now we have to get a new vacuum cleaner as you ruined this one)_

_**Hmm…so let's find out just how familiar you are with British customs and language then Bobby…**_

**BONFIRE NIGHT**

As he turned the street corner into St. Martin's Lane, Robert Goren quickly pressed his fine Irish linen and Nottingham lace handkerchief to his nose. The scent of fresh lavender and rose petals going some way to compensate for the stench that assaulted his nostrils from all sides. And little wonder when he looked along its dark, narrow confines and cobbles.

To his right, in a crude pen, about half a dozen pigs, one of which a filthy man grabbed by its rear trotters, swung onto a blood stained bench and quickly cut its throat. Goren almost squealed as loud as the pig when an arc of hot, dark blood sprayed halfway across the street. He ducked quickly to one side only narrowly avoiding a steaming pile of horse manure.

That would be hell to get out from under the silver buckles of his shoes. It had been difficult enough to get them in a size thirteen and they all came with a stacked heel he didn't really need for height. But, dodging the horseshit, he bumped into one of a group of women standing outside "_Ye Olde Dog and Duck Inne"._

" 'Ere wotch it me old cock" said the woman turning with breath that reeked of gin.

"Excuse me ma'am" he puzzled tipping his tricorn hat.

"Cor 'e's a biggun Mary" said her friend wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Goren glanced quickly down at his codpiece wondering if perhaps it had slipped, but all seemed to be well. At least visually.

"I'm looking for the morgue" he said, "I was told it was in this street?"

"Oooh you don't want ta be going there ducks" said the first woman "Full of dead people innit? Tell you wot. Yous looks a fine gent. 'Ow about yous comes dahn the alley wiv me. I'll yank yer for a farthing"

Goren leaned sideways to peer into the alley. He assumed the word _"yank"_ must be reference to his nationality. Until he saw what another young woman was doing to a sailor just inside the entrance. His knowledge of British slang words was obviously deficient in certain areas, but he made a mental note for the future. You never knew when such terminology might come in useful.

Before he could respond, the door of the public house opened to the smell of warm beer, wet sawdust and greasy gravy. A large man threw another onto the cobbles and told him to _"go away"_. Or at least used a phrase that obviously applied both sides of the Atlantic.

"Push awf you doxies" he gestured to the women. "This 'ere is the noo Constable of Westminster Parish. Mr Goren. "'E'll do you for selling your poxy parts on the street"

The women began to move off, passing between them a gallon jug of gin the hostelry advertised at a penny each.

"You'll be wanting the morgue Constable" the bartender scratched a head on which several lice crawled. "Dahn there on the roight"

"Thank you" Goren raised his hat managing not to drag off the shoulder length curly wig.

As he passed an opening onto a small square there seemed to be a variety of open-air entertainments in progess. Bear baiting, cock fighting and a man in a striped costume playing a lute and singing a song whose only lyrics appeared to be _"Hey nonny no"_. Whatever that meant. But the biggest crowd, including a lot of filthy children dressed in rags, were gathered round the stocks. To throw rotten vegetables at some minor criminal being locked into them.

Goren assumed the distinct odour in London Towne might be due to an excessive amount of rotting vegetation. Until, from a window above, some one yelled, _"Look aht below"_ and emptied a large wooden bucket containing urine and faeces onto the cobbles.

He was lucky the resulting ricochet hit neither his doublet nor his hose. Though the same could not be said for what looked to be some skinned and paunched rabbits hanging outside the window below. They had an unpleasant green tinge of decay even before their basting in an unorthodox _"sauce"_.

Goren was glad of that because he thought he looked rather good in the hose, though it had been something of a struggle to get any to fit him. And a worse and more uncomfortable struggle, to get them on. They were at least silk and under the doublet and short cloak, he'd had to resort to some string to try and keep them from slipping down and exposing him to ridicule.

Or exposing a great deal more, since the only way to get the smooth, tight fit fashion demanded was to remove his shorts. Hence the additional need for the codpiece, which was several sizes too small, very hot and beginning to itch. He needed to solve this case quickly or he'd develop an uncomfortable rash that could curtail his plans for the rest of the weekend.

He hurried by two men mixing what looked to be buckets of red paint. One was saying to the other _"I 'erd it's reached the 'oly Roman Empire already Jim. Only a matter of toime before plague gets to Merrye Olde Englande. You mark my words. We'll be pineting crawses on doors afore the year is aht"._ Finally, Constable Goren saw the sign above the door said "MORTUARY" though some Cockney wag had written underneath _"Ye Body Shoppe"_. A term that had a familiar ring to it as he pushed open the heavy door.

It gave with a creak, onto a winding flight of worn stone steps illuminated by candles. Wrapping his cloak against the chill and away from the mildew covered walls, Goren went down. And stepped out into a small room very reminiscent of a dungeon. Lined with heavy tables on which several bodies lay covered in dirty bloodstained sheets, which might once have been white.

"'Ello" said a female voice from within the gloom. "Oim 'ere to 'elp you"

Her face was none too clean, several blond wisps of hair peeked out from under her close fitting headgear and she was holding a large basket almost overflowing with oranges.

"And you are?" enquired Goren removing the hat but needing a quick adjustment to the wig.

"Moi name is Nell Eames" said the woman with a glance at his codpiece. "Would you loike one sir?"

Goren hoped she was referring to the oranges. Because when he looked at the low, drawstring neck of her blouse they were not the only things in danger of overflowing. And him not the only one missing an item of underwear he was able to conclude, thanks to the thin fabric from which it was made.

"No thank you Miss" he said, putting his black walking cane down beside the tricorn on an empty bench and starting to peel off his gloves.

"Mistress" said Eames with another glance at the undersized codpiece. "That's wot you is supposed ta call me"

"No thank you to that as well" Goren muttered. "Which is the corpse I'm supposed to look at?"

"This 'un" she said slightly truculently as she pointed to the last bench. "Oil bring you annuver loight"

Goren wished he'd been looking elsewhere as she bent over to put the basket on the floor. He left Eames to deal with her version of _"a wardrobe malfunction"_ and light more candles. He pulled back the grimy sheet and studied the body.

"Oh gawd blimey will you tike a look at that" said Eames as she held a candelabrum above the corpse.

"Hmm" said Goren, picking up a quill pen, dipping it in the ink and making a few notes. "Multiple lacerations and contusions to all part of the body. Judging by the absence of mammaries, male but…" he lifted the sheet "Genitalia also missing. Crude mutilation. Not the work of a skilled person using medical implements. Age approximately 35 years"

"Is that all?" asked his unlikely assistant somewhat impatiently.

Goren set aside the cumbersome writing implements and removed the entire sheet. He waved his hand over the gruesome sight almost casually and then folded his arms.

"Clearly the subject has also been disembowelled. The lower abdomen appears to be missing most of the intestines. Are they anywhere around?" he glanced about him.

"No Constable Goren" she replied.

"Probably burned" he went on thoughtfully. "I expect you noticed the body has been hacked into four parts and the head severed from the neck?"

"Don't look at me mister" yelped Nell Eames. "I were selling oranges when it 'appened. It weren't me. I'm a good girl I am"

"I'm not accusing you Miss…Ms…whatever" shrugged Goren. "This is a traitors death if I'm not mistaken"

He reached out and felt along the arms, which were as floppy as noodles, rotated one in its socket almost hitting Eames in the face with the bloody hand missing several fingernails and then felt the severely truncated neck.

"This man has been racked, there are burns indicative of white hot pokers and I believe a partial rupture of the fifth cervical vertebra" Goren said with a brief chew on one thumbnail at least he still had both of. "Torture to extract information? Or perhaps a confession? Hanged to death or at least unconsciousness and the guts drawn whilst he was probably alive. Beheading and the division of the body to allow the parts to be impaled above city gates or at other landmarks as warning to others"

"So it ain't moider?" asked Eames

"Excuse me? Oh murder? It ain't…I mean…it is not. This is judicial execution"

"Oi woz told to show you these fings too Constable. They woz on 'im when they brung 'im 'ere". Eames turned and pointed to another table with more than her finger. But it was rather cold in the basement.

"Hmm" Goren picked up a book and looked in the cover. "_Property of St. Peter's School, Yorke_. And what do we have here?"

He tilted his head to look at a small pile of some sort of powder or fibre. He took a pinch, rubbed it between his fingers, looked at the greasy black residue and sniffed them.

"Charcoal like substance with a smell of sulphur? Gunpowder ma'am. And this?" he flipped open with one finger a second book. "See how the cover claims it to be the _Authorised Version_ of the Bible? That would be in English. This is Latin, which probably tells us this man was a Catholic. Perhaps secretly so"

"Cor you is a clever cove mister" said Nell Eames.

Goren reached for his hat, gloves and cane. "Remember, remember the Fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot"

"Eh?" asked Eames going to pick up the basket of oranges, as he quickly looked the other way.

"The victim is Guy Fawkes. One of the conspirators who on 5th November 1605 planted barrels of gunpowder under Parliament seeking to blow it up and the King, James the First, along with it. He'd pronounced against extreme Protestants and Catholics in the yo-yo religious adherence that marked the British Isles for almost 70 years by then"

Goren began to go up the stairs. "Then sometime later, to celebrate the foiling of what was seen as a Papist plot, the Brits began having bonfires on 5th November where they burn Fawkes in effigy. And let off fireworks in their yards and at big public displays. Kind of like 4th July? But more complicated in historical origin and doubtful many know _the what_ and _the why_ anymore. It's also where the word _"guy"_ comes from. Originally used to refer to a man who was a rogue or criminal"

They stepped out on the street together. Goren turned left and strode off towards the corner.

"So can we go for a burger now Bobby?" Eames dumped the basket and began to peel one of the oranges, tossing the skin onto the cobbles as she hurried to catch him up.

"We only had coffee and muffins half an hour ago Alex" he sighed, "Surely we can manage one more before lunchtime?"

"I guess" she muttered. "Where to?"

Bobby was studying the signboard. "Aha. The games afoot Watson. Come along"

Eames groaned as they turned to _"Victorian Crime Fiction"_. She could cheerfully shoot the people who thought a _"Who Done It?"_ theme park aimed at detectives would be a good idea. Already this morning they'd been in the _Ancient Rome_ pavilion, for Bobby to correctly identify the victim as Julius Caesar, one of his killers as some man called _"Ettu Brute"_ and to the _Athens Republic_ to conclude Socrates was a suicide.

The costumes might be fun, Bobby looked great in a toga and that codpiece certainly brightened up _"Olde London Towne"_. But in _Ancient Egypt_ he'd delivered a very long lecture on snakes of the venomous and constricting kind, before concluding which asp Cleopatra probably clasped to her bosom.

He was paying no attention to hers, despite that stunt in the dungeon and she was hungry. Not only that, two years ago when the _"1PP Fun Day" _came here, Bobby insisted on spending so long solving crimes in nineteenth century London she ended up with a bad chill and a cough thanks to all the smog.

_Maybe when they got there they could get some roast chestnuts like last time? Or some cheap gin to keep out the cold? Perhaps she'd come up with some really original and witty riposte to something Bobby said? But "_No shit Sherlock_" would probably have to do…again._ And Goren looked ridiculous in a deerstalker.

Up ahead, Bobby discretely gave the too small codpiece a shove and wriggled. He couldn't wait to be out of this costume and into a deerstalker. That really suited him. He frowned at a figure almost hopping towards them with a very uneven gait and with a large hunchback. He didn't recognise him at first as he went by drooling, _"The bells, the bells, the bells made me deaf"_

Bobby stopped dead in his tracks and Eames, sucking on a piece of orange, walked straight into the back of him. He winced at the nasty pinch he got from the codpiece, then turned and whistled through his fingers.

"Yo Stabler!!" he yelled. _"French Fiction_ is the other way"

_**AN:**__** British readers may recognise some minor historic and costume inconsistencies…but hey…this is Hollywood!! "Yonder loys da castle of moy league"(Tony Curtis)**_

_**AN:**__** Other readers please note London hasn't changed at all in the last 400 years…except they now serve beer cold.**_


	3. Trick Or Treat

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…so if it's raining go take the washing off the line…don't just stand there telling me it needs doing)_

_**Bobby is feeling very "grumpy" and not enjoying the sort of Halloween happens in the world I created for him…**_

**TRICK OR TREAT**

Bobby Goren loathed Halloween. For three reasons. Firstly it coincided with the end of the baseball season which always left him with a sense of mild ennui would persist through winter until the start of Spring Training. Secondly, his alternative TV viewing of the _"Discovery Channel"_ meant his chance to learn interesting facts about _"mummification"_ and _"tribal customs of the Kalahari Desert"_ which might be useful some day, was interrupted. With a constant stream of premature urchins began ringing his doorbell around the 23rd October, none of whom either seemed to own a handkerchief or ever been taught how to use one. By parents he assumed were equally neglectful as to allow small children to go knocking on the doors of male strangers who lived alone in the first place. And the last reason was because of the _"1PP Halloween Party"_ he tried and failed to get out of each year.

Bobby stood in the corner of the gymnasium glowering at the scene before him, an expression no one would notice on account of his _"Darth Vader"_ costume. The same thing he'd worn last year thanks to leaving it so late to go to the costume hire shop and it being the only thing left would fit him. Or at least had boots size 13. Except he wasn't sure the way his big toes were cramping this pair might not be only 12½ and that was in addition to the fact their leather squeaked and creaked. The slightest movement set off a sound made the whole room think the gymnasium door had opened. It was probably sign of the current _"budget constraints"_ that oil couldn't be afforded for the hinges. Either that or a set of bedsprings which meant he needed to take care about the pace he walked at. Too fast and he sounded like an enthusiastic honeymoon couple and got winks and grins people thought he couldn't see behind the mask.

It was a strange array of people before him and in some cases slightly worrying. Four technicians from CSU must have spent hours of publicly funded time constructing that facsimile of Mount Rushmore. Using plaster intended to cast shoe and tyre impressions and some sort of multiple shade, _"tie dye"_ effect on yards of white nylon from _"crime scene suits"_ they had cut up. No wonder the NYPD budget was in crisis and they were probably regretting the choice to all get into the one costume. Because it seemed two were meat eaters and two vegetarian and the two buffet tables on opposite sides of the room. But Bobby assumed, or at least hoped, that Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Washington might individually and certainly together, have negotiated a solution. One more seemly, dignified and _"Presidential"_ than the scuffle breaking out in the centre of the gym floor.

A scuffle that with a scale model that size inevitably spread so that five cops from the Vice Squad got embroiled. At least Bobby assumed that's who they were. Either that or the_ "Village People Tribute Band"_ hired to provide entertainment. Though when he thought about it more closely, as the construction worker threatened to assassinate Lincoln all over again, someone had told him about five cops who got so _"deep undercover"_ in The Village a few years back they resigned from NYPD to follow a musical career. When order was restored there was one casualty left on the floor rolling around.

Arriving in a white sort of robe with extremely long sleeves, Bobby had wondered at first whether it was a bad taste joke on John Munch's part to dress like an ill tailored member of the _KKK,_ especially when partnered with Fin Tutuola. But seeing the straps attached to the sleeves he was somewhat relieved about ten minutes later to see Fin fasten Munch's arms tightly across and behind him with the buckles. So were most other people in the room who like him had expected it to happen to Munch for years. The only disadvantage for Tutuola, who was dressed as Spiderman, was that he'd had to carry round an extra drink with a straw and feed the helpless Munch pizza slices.

As the SVU detective writhed on the floor like Houdini unable to regain his feet, Bobby wasn't about to go over and help him. Not when one of his colleagues just ignored him and stepped over his prone form. But then he had the suspicion Elliot Stabler was using it as chance to show off his fake tanned and oiled thighs a little more in the _"Gladiator"_ costume. The leather underwear of which, Bobby got the distinct impression when he went in the bathroom earlier, Stabler was either regretting or enjoying rather too much. It would have been insane to expect the man to have resisted the comment _"I see the Empire struck back"_ seeing him costumed again as Darth Vader but Bobby had taken his revenge. And in a way didn't require the help of the Sith or rather the way half the SWAT team was outfitted.

When Elliot asked for his help, since he couldn't remember the name of the guy in the movie that Russell Crowe portrayed. So Bobby thought he should be kind and told him. Which meant all evening so far the SVU detective had gone round the room declaring, _"I am Gluteus Maximus Equus"._ It was comforting to realise just how many others in the room understood what it really meant and possibly shared his opinion of Stabler, when they sniggered and replied, _"Yes we know you are Elliot"._

But Bobby's minor enjoyment and the only kind he likely to get this evening was cut short. By Deakins, who was singularly disturbing dressed as _"Dorothy",_ but at least the Cairn terrier he'd borrowed from the stray animal pound hadn't disgraced himself as yet. Unlike Captain Creagan who in a show of solidarity came as _"The Scarecrow"_, got rapidly drunk and set himself alight falling on one of the pumpkin lanterns. He was only saved from third degree burns thanks to the prompt action of two guys from Robbery dressed as babies. Who used their bottles of milk to extinguish the flames. Bobby was tempted to say to Deakins _"Why can't Elliot do it?"_ except it would have sounded rather first grade and petty.

A chorus of basso profundo _"da da da dada da dada daaaa"_ accompanied every step across the gymnasium floor, as Bobby did as he was told in going to fetch the female officers from the locker room. An hour into the party none of them had been seen as yet and at least the singing drowned out the creaking of his slow and reluctant steps. They created a kind of _"just getting started"_ rhythm, at least it was for him and one none of the female detectives was ever likely to enjoy, whatever their hopes and dreams were. Despite those indelible purple ink marker pen claims appeared in the ladies rest rooms all over 1PP after last years _"Halloween Party"_. Duly reported by his loyal helpers in the contract cleaning crew who alerted him well in advance.

Not only to the false claims that Bobby/Darth Vader had taken them to _"the dark side of the gym"_, but breathed asthmatically _"Come with me Princess"_ in their ears before _"getting out more than his light sabre". _And that was only the start of the trouble, as he was then slapped with seven paternity suits on account of the _"you're Luke's father"_ claims. The fact three of the babies were girls not acting as any deterrent to them all choosing that name it would seem.

It had taken DNA testing to prove that was all down to the group of seven motorcycle patrol officers who arrived en masse. Dressed with the intention of saving them all from _"Calvera and his gang of Mexican bandits"_. Something else he'd had to explain to Elliot Stabler who seemed to think John Sturges a place in South Dakota and Kurosawa a make of Japanese car.

Bobby entered the female locker room with a squeak from his boots and grateful for the cloak he wrapped around him. To keep their gaze, sometimes felt like they had x ray vision, from both his _"light sabre"_ and anything else safely tucked in the tight pants and going to stay that way. Thanks to the mask, almost tripping over six carelessly discarded broomsticks and sending five yowling black cats to the top of the lockers. Thirty-five, black robed females wearing pointed hats, throwing parts of amphibians into a steaming pot, reading from dusty books in unknown languages, injecting apples and constructing what looked a dollhouse from gingerbread. They all turned to him as one.

"Is that you Bobby?" asked Eames testing the broth with a spoon.

"No it's Anakin Skywalker" he muttered. He wished he'd shaved again before putting the helmet on as it was starting to itch as bad as his toes were cramping and thinking she was being a little heavy handed with _"eye of toad"_ again.

"So what are you doing here my young Jedi?" she asked scaring him more than the Emperor in the movie ever did any kid.

"I've been sent to fetch you all to the party"

Olivia Benson put down another cat. "What party Bobby?"

"The Halloween Party"

"But that's not until tomorrow" said a female officer patting the bench beside her "You can come over here and use a little of your dark force on me meantime Bobby"

"No thank you" he said politely knowing he was more sexually attracted to Yoda than he ever would be to her had a sort of _"wookie thing"_ going on with her hair "It's not tomorrow. It's tonight"

"He's right" said Eames checking her cobweb covered electronic organiser and tossing a couple of spiders into the pot.

"As usual" sighed a chorus of voices with a devoted breathiness threatened to extinguish every black candle burning in the room.

"Then maybe you should all start getting ready" he said as they began to fling open locker doors on endless Princess Leia costumes, suggested they'd emptied every hire shop in the Five Boroughs.

Bobby sang to himself in a familiar tune all the way back to the gymnasium. "I hate trick or treat, trick or treat…da da dada…"

_**AN **__I do not own any purple marker pens and my Princess Leia costume is currently at the dry cleaners…there was a "an accident" on it last night…_


	4. Pheidippedes

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…of course I have a "nice surprise" for you later big boy…we're going Christmas shopping…)_

**PHEIDIPPEDES**

Bobby groaned softly not sure how long he could keep going. But when the male ego is at stake it's surprising what reserves you can draw on. Of physical effort, of lessons you learned along the way in life and whilst it might be something of a cliché, thinking about his grandmother might have helped too.

His breath was ragged, coming in deep gasps as suddenly he heard Alex. _"Yes! Yes! Oh my God Bobby! Yes!"_ she cried out. A mixture, it sounded to him, of deep satisfaction and joy and maybe a little surprise thrown in he wasn't about to be offended by.

He surrendered himself to the moment as his own body reached the end and the world vanished. Like in a faint only much, much better. Waves of hot and cold through every fibre of his being, crashing ashore somewhere deep inside. Bringing in the same rhythm, that mix of peaceful pleasure and sensations had an exquisite pain to them. The sounds from him a cross between a growl and a whimper before he went totally limp.

When he opened his eyes Alex was smiling at him. "You okay Goren?" she asked.

Bobby's heart was still thumping in his chest and his breathing ragged as he looked up at her "I guess". He swallowed dryly. "Or I will be. Give me a moment or maybe a month"

Alex chuckled. "Don't feel like going round again then?"

"Sure" he raised himself on one elbow "Mind is willing but the flesh is weak though Alex" he took a deep and shuddering breath. "I'm afraid you are on your own. Have fun. Send me a postcard"

"Here" she held out her hand which was cool and dry compared to his hot and damp one. He took it as she helped him to his feet.

"Thanks" Bobby said hoping the trembling in his legs wasn't too obvious.

"And thank you" he said to one of those marshals. Who checked the number on his shirt, handed him his medal for completing the _"New York Marathon"_ and one of those silver foil blankets.

He let Eames help him put it round his shoulders. He felt like last year's left overs of _Thanksgiving_ turkey as they made their way through the finish area to where the NYPD runners were all gathering together. It was chaotic with those annoying men and women really did look like they had just been through a stroll in Central Park. Doing _warming down_ exercises. Next to others, who lay on the ground looking worse than some corpses he'd seen. A few with concerned friends and family around them and some on all fours vomiting amid water bottles, sponges, discarded numbers and the abandoned running shoes. Shoes of those who got sense, said _"Never again"_ and would all be back again next year.

"You owe me two hundred bucks by the way," he said as Alex handed him a bottle of water.

"I know" she shrugged. "Will tomorrow do? I don't seem to have my chequebook on me right now"

"I'll take a credit card " Bobby took a mouthful, rinsed and spat. "Or cash. I may have finished the damn race but I'd like to collect quickly. Spend it just in case the only place I end up tomorrow is the coronary unit at Mercy Hospital"

Alex laughed softly. "You'll be fine. Or are you going to tell me those were the last words Lincoln heard his doctor say?"

"Dunno" Bobby smiled and then frowned, as they got closer to the NYPD bunch. "Where's Elliot?"

"Last I saw him was around mile ten" said Eames "Expected him to finish ahead of you to be honest"

"You mean you expected him to finish and me not to" he shrugged. "I'm not exactly built for the Marathon am I?"

"I'm still down a couple of hundred bucks Bobby. Did you see him at all?"

"At the mile 18 _First Aid Station_. When I stopped to get some blisters popped"

"Eeuw!!" she wrinkled her face. "Gross. Spare me the details please"

"The blisters have got blisters now. Stabler's problem seemed to be chafing" Bobby announced with a slight gleam in his eyes.

Eames glanced at him. "Doesn't he know to rub his nipples with _Vaseline_?"

"Wasn't his nipples that were chafing" he grinned. "And anything of mine is my business"

His partner sniggered "You are hobbling a bit"

"That's my tendons. They currently stretch from here to Brooklyn" Bobby winced, deciding not to tell his partner Elliot Stabler now owed him five hundred bucks.

He limped on through the scatter of Marathon debris and leaves of yellow, gold and red. Thinking of spring and the ticket plan for _Shea _next season seven hundred bucks would buy. It was what kept him going every lousy step of the _Vaseline _laden 26 miles 385 yards.

Bobby removed his running shoes, saying _"Never again"_ and meaning it. Thinking of the sounds of spring. The _thwack _of a baseball hitting a catcher's leather mitt and umpires calling strikes. And the only blisters those a pitcher might get perfecting a split fingered curveball. It helped a lot with the pain.

_**AN :**__** I'm really looking forward to the New York Marathon…I've got the big tub of "Vaseline" with Bobby's name on it…**_


	5. First Footing

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…if you don't give me some help soon it will be YOUR stomach I'll be stuffing with sheep liver, lungs, oatmeal, onions and herbs and boiling in a pan for several hours…)_

_**Forget taking away their freedom Mel "Do I Look Taller In Woad" Gibson…I bet you never took away that Scottish recipe...**_

**FIRST FOOTING or HOW TO PUT YOUR WORST ONE FORWARD**

It was just after 1 am on New Year's Day and for Alex 2008 had already got off to bad start and not the way she planned. Nor with the kind of big bang she was counting on.

The_"Welcome 2008 Party"_ at 1PP she helped to organise had been a huge success. The food was great, the band excellent and people enjoyed themselves. Most important the booze hadn't run out and there were no gun fights, which had rather put a dampener on last year.

Bobby had turned up, without a date and though he annoyed a few people at their table for a while, after a few drinks things got better. Alex didn't recall who it was raised the topic of New Year customs like eating black-eyed peas and ham. But trust Goren to know that in Spain you eat 12 grapes at midnight, doughnuts on New Years Day in the Netherlands and even, that the ancient Babylonians celebrated the holiday for a full eleven days.

By the time his lecture had got to _Hogmanay_, the Scottish word for New Year's Eve, the attention of other people was starting to flag. Though Mike Logan expressed vague interest in what _"haggis and neeps"_ were and Megan Wheeler delayed her visit to the restroom. To learn from Bobby something of the tradition of _"first footing"_ in Scotland and across the rest of the UK.

There, the first person through your door after midnight was supposed to bring you luck for the rest of the year. And ideally, should be a dark haired man carrying coal and salt for reasons Alex didn't hear, as the band began to play again.

It didn't much matter. If her plan for the start of 2008 worked and good fortune was hers, the first guy through her door would have rather big feet, not be as dark as he once was and not be leaving until morning. Be an old acquaintance she'd not forget and if the rumours were true, very memorable indeed.

But as midnight approached, Bobby was no-where to be found and Alex sensed her chances of discovering if he'd ever had a tonsillectomy were fading. As everyone began to sing _"Auld Lang Syne"_ all she could think of was Bobby telling people though Robert Burns wrote the words they were not formally published until after his death in 1796.

When everyone fell to kissing every one else and she finally got Logan's tongue from round the back of her wisdom teeth, Alex discovered two things. That Bobby had gone off with a gang of his buddies from the Army and she wasn't the only one with a disappointed expression. Elliot Stabler looked very pissed off too.

Then, just as she decided to go to bed, there was a knock at her door. When she looked through the spy hole all she could see was Bobby's face and a combat helmet at a rather jaunty angle. And heard him giggling, "I came to wish you a happy New Year"

She threw open the door. He should have said _"very happy New Year"_ because forget the coal and salt; the only thing he seemed to have in his hand was a large balloon. A strategically placed balloon since the rest of him was totally naked.

He smiled at her and she smiled back even wider. When she saw that where the balloon said _"2008"_ someone had crossed out the _"20"_ and added something else. So it now read _"O8 inches"._

"Come in Bobby" she breathed.

The_"first foot"_ through her door was size thirteen, the second seemed to trip over the first and Bobby landed flat on his face on the hall floor. His butt was great. Though whether it really was still _"Property of the US Army"_ was uncertain and the handwriting was very bad.

It looked to be written in purple marker pen of some kind and Alex was only certain of two things as Bobby lay there. He'd had cups filled with more than kindness since she saw him last and was the closest thing to dead a man could be who was still breathing.

_**New Year's Day 10 am**_

Bobby woke with half the City of New York road maintenance department drilling holes in his head and the other half excavating his stomach with shovels. And with the growing realisation he was on the floor of a strangely familiar hallway.

Head on a cushion, covered in a thin blanket and with something stuck on part of his anatomy. _At least he'd not been so drunk he wasn't still sensible about things._ He reached down and pulled it off with a rubbery twanging sound. He winced. _Didn't usually sting like that._

When his hand retrieved it from under the blanket Bobby realised it was a shrivelled gold balloon with something written on it. And vague memory was returning. Of a bet with Hank and Joe and of the ice rink at the Rockefeller Center. _No wonder his feet felt slightly frost bitten._

"Happy New Year Goren" a female voice seemed to scream above the sound of the roadcrew.

But she didn't seem too happy and Bobby finally worked out where he was.

"_Shit"_ he thought. _"She's not going to let me live this down for 365 days"_

Then Bobby remembered. 2008 is a Leap Year and the start to it had just got about 0.273 percent worse.

_**AN:**__He did give me some help…just as well or it would be more than turnips I was mashing to go with the haggis…buttering them is optional…_

_**With best wishes to all the other CI nut-jobs…I mean…everyone, everywhere for a happy, peaceful and successful 2008.**_

_**Clueless XXX**_

_**PS. I wonder if Bobby knows about the Leap Year tradition of a woman proposing to a guy on 29th February…that'll cure his hangover and get him off Alex's floor PDQ!!!**_


	6. Have You Been A Good Boy?

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…I said to hang the stockings not try them on)_

_**I'm sure we'd all like to think of Bobby having a Happy Christmas…but it wouldn't be FF without a little dose of angst for him to suffer first…**_

**HAVE YOU BEEN A GOOD BOY THIS YEAR?**

Bobby had always hated going to see Santa. He didn't know why and neither did his mother recall, why as a toddler he developed an irrational fear of the occasion. It wasn't like he'd been molested or anything. Nor had he ever suffered the trauma of seeing his Mommy kissing Santa Claus. Underneath _Magnoliopsida Santalales_ or any other type of seasonal foliage.

But even within his own memory he could recall his Mom, with his brother hanging onto one hand pulling her towards the grotto, keen and exicted. Whilst he, fearfully and often in tears, tried to drag her the other way. As other kids stood in line bubbling with excitement he was blubbing and begging to go home.

Each year Mom tried to explain there was nothing to be afraid of, pointing out the cool enthusiasm of the other children. Nor did his _"Santa loving"_ brother help, using it as excuse to be mean to him behind Mom's back. Only made him worse and the one occasion Bobby did manage to evade the ordeal, it was thanks to getting in such a state he threw up over Frank. Meant neither of them got to see Santa that year and the following week of torment from his disappointed sibling was worth it.

So why he found himself waiting in the semi darkness Bobby had no idea. And even less why he should be doing it at all at his age. _Unless it was to prove something to himself he should have addressed, perhaps with professional help, many years ago?_

He could still feel his heart beating rather fast and a churning in his stomach. _Perhaps his terror stemmed from the colour of Santa's suit and all that white fur? Or the unnatural facial whiskers?_ Unnatural beyond the remotest _Blue Grass_ counties of Kentucky anyway.

_Could it be that it was rooted in the slightly odd smell he could recall coming from one of the Santa's? _Though at this distance of time, he couldn't remember if that was the same Santa had holes in the pants of his suit looked very much like cigarette burns. And a stain on the coat the colour of spaghetti sauce. Even then he'd been a very observant child.

_Or maybe the basis of his fear stemmed from guilt?_ That he knew he wasn't entirely telling the truth when he said, _"Yes. I've been a good boy all year"_. Though more accurately it was Mom or Frank claimed that on his behalf whilst he sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and made out he badly needed the bathroom.

_Perhaps Santa really did know of all his childish indiscretions and deceits?_ Like who really broke Mrs Watson's window and wrote a rude word on the bathroom wall at school. _And that it was he routinely took nibbles from the carrots left out for the reindeer? _Though that was something of a scientific experiment after someone said they improved your night vision.

Bobby had no idea why he didn't just get up and run whilst the going was good. As the door opened and Santa walked in he sat to attention. His mouth dropped open as if to scream but no sound came out.

"Ho, ho, ho, Robert" said Santa kindly "So have you been a good boy this year?"

"I…um…maybe" he squeaked in a very doubtful soprano he didn't have, even before puberty. Coughed and swallowed hard. "I think so Santa" he said in a more normal voice.

His breath shuddered as he looked at Santa. No smell of whiskey or stale cigars. Definitely _Chanel No 5._ Not a white whisker in sight. Just brunette waves peeking out from the red and white hat. And the scant panties and bra in red lace, trimmed with white fur, were a real improvement on moth eaten cloth.

"Good. So what would you like for Christmas Robert?"

Bobby's fear of Santa was gone as he motioned his wife towards him on the sofa. "You climb into my lap baby and I'm sure I'll think of something"

_**AN:**__ Well I guess we can assume about Bobby…question is…did Santa come that night?_

_**With my very best wishes to everyone, wherever you are in the world and whatever this time of year means to you...**_

_**Clueless xxx**_

_**PS I've asked Santa to bring me a sensible head this year...again.**_


	7. In The Easter Parade

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…by the way…chocolate round your mouth and on your fingers is a bit of a clue to who ate MY giant egg…and you call yourself a detective??)_

_**Aah! Easter…Springtime…and for Bobby the sap definitely seems to be rising…**_

**IN THE EASTER PARADE**

Eames and Benson were thrilled when they and their partners were asked to be part of the_ NYPD _float in the annual Easter Parade. The two of them had spent hours choosing suitable dresses to wear and several nights decorating bonnets.

Several wine-fuelled and calorie laden nights, after deciding to glue chocolate eggs to the straw hats. But realising the danger of not being able to fit into their dresses and the appearance on their faces of several unsightly spots, they stuck more and ate less. Provided the temperatures were not in the nineties that day all would be well.

As to Bobby and Elliot, neither of them very enthusiastic it had to be said, all they had to do was go to the costume hire shop. Ask for two bunny costumes and get themselves to the start of the parade.

But as the time for it to start drew closer and numerous _"Harveys", "Thumpers"_ and_"Mopsys"_ were boarding the float, there was no sign of the two guys. True, armed with stun guns and shotguns, none of the cops from the_"Watership Down Precinct"_ were as cute as they might be.

One from the mounted division was carrying a carrot he must have stolen from his horse and was dressed as _"Bugs"_ and when someone from Traffic got run over crossing the street, it really was a case of _"Who Killed Roger Rabbit?"_ Or more accurately, Sergeant Frank Dobson, married with two young children.

And John Munch was driving everyone nuts as the _"Energiser Bunny"_ with his drum until someone found his _"off switch"._ Or shorted him out with a taser, as suddenly it went quiet.

Eames and Benson were just getting into a panic Bobby and Elliot were going to miss the start, when a cab drew up and they stepped out. Or in Goren's case rolled out and lay on the ground helpless until Stabler managed to get him to his feet. That was even worse. There was nothing _"Flopsy"_ about his costume at all. Quite the reverse.

The two female detectives stared in horrified silence at their partners.

**Twenty Minutes Later, Fifth Avenue**

Benson was fast losing any remaining patience with Stabler. He kept complaining how tight the gusset of his costume was, how he was sure he'd got a run in his fishnets and he wished other people on the float would quit pinching his butt. There was hardly any fluff left in his_"Cottontail"._

It was humiliating to have to stand next to him and she'd eaten half the decoration on her hat to make herself feel better. If one more male citizen shouted out _"Wow it's Mr July"_ she would shoot them.

But what really ticked her off was Elliot not only had better legs than her in three-inch heels, his cleavage was magnificent. Though having D cup implants done, probably was taking things rather too far.

On the opposite side of the float, Eames was so angry the eggs on her bonnet were in danger of boiling on a cool and damp day.

"Stop that Goren!" she snapped.

"I can't find the switch" he muttered from inside the pink tube as the top third kept rotating in a relentless circular fashion. "It's making me giddy too"

"There" said Eames locating it before she turned away and screamed. "And take those ears out of my back!"

"Sorry" replied her partner.

Though Bobby didn't sound it and he wasn't about to tell Eames what was making them vibrate.

"It's bad enough having to stand next to you" she complained. "But you do realise its Liv and I who will get the blame for this? For being so stupid to imagine we could trust you two to do a simple thing like go and hire two _Easter _Bunny costumes"

"They sold out" said Goren trying to keep better control of the super soft and extra long ears as he turned to waggle them at the crowd.

"I don't believe you" hissed his partner who knew she could never show the photographs of this occasion at the family dinner table.

Then, just when she and Benson thought things could not get worse, their partners only went and won first prize in_ "The Pairs" _fancy dress competition. How Stabler managed to balance where he did, goodness only knew, nor why Goren let him. But it was disgusting.

It came as no surprise none of them were invited to take part in the _4th July Parade_ that year.

_**AN :**__** There are soooo many things I could say as footnote…but would get banned for. I'd post a "cut and paste" illustrative picture on my profile page…it just so happens I have one…but I'd get banned for that too…Happy Easter!!**_


	8. XLIII

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

(_**And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…you bet HOW MUCH on the Cards???!!!)**_

**XLlll**

Eames was dealing with a mountain of paperwork and silently cussing her missing partner when she first heard him cough in the workroom behind her. Two of those _"throat clearing"_ ones. Which clearly didn't work.

Goren coughed again. Like a cat trying to clear a furball before he made a kind of gurgling noise in his throat and hacked a couple more times. As she turned to look he picked up a glass and tried a drink. All that achieved was a sort of belching noise and the liquid coming right back up. On the floor.

"Eeugh!" Eames thought as by now Goren was standing up and sort of wriggling.

Then he went into a kind of spasm. Of endless hacking coughs interspersed with gasping breaths. Hollow ringing breaths like he had the whooping cough. When Goren stumbled into the table clutching his throat and sending food flying, Eames realised he was in real trouble.

By the time she entered the room the coughing had stopped but Goren's breathing was reduced to a thin and dangerous sounding _"wheeze"._ And he was turning blue.

Eames had always liked Goren in blue. It suited him; especially that time he had been wearing nothing but a blue towel. And the colour of his cheeks and lips on this occasion toned beautifully with his grey shirt and highlighted to perfection, the shades of two days worth of stubble.

Setting aside the memory of that frustrating towel, Eames sprang into action. Did something she had wanted to do for years and Goren had skillfully avoided giving her opportunity for.

She jumped on him.

More accurately she went up behind him and flung her arms around him, just about able to lock her fingers together around his broad frame. That seemed to make things worse as for a moment Goren tried to evade her. Perhaps in the panic or perhaps fearing Eames was finally taking a bold initiative to change the nature of their relationship.

Goren made tiny yelping noises and between them, hideous gurgling sounds as he turned from sky to royal blue. Eames lost her grip two or three times. Her hands ended places only made things worse before she re-established the correct hold.

She jerked the ball of her fists back into Goren's rib cavity once and wondering if she might have to give him a friendly taser burst to get him to quit struggling.

It stopped the ghastly rhythm of his heaving breaths. For a moment Eames wondered if she was about to get another of those annoying lectures from her partner. That even a lungful of air away from death, Goren would still find it from somewhere to deliver an exposition on Henry Heimlich. Born February 1920 and who, in 1974, first came up with the manoeuvre for saving people who were choking named after him.

Sometimes referred to as _"abdominal thrusts"_ Eames could only think as she applied a third and fourth to Goren's body, this was not the sort she had dreamed of sharing with him for so long.

He made a sort of gulping sound and then one something like _"blargh"_ as a glob shot out of his mouth and splattered on the workroom window. Goren still wheezing, wriggled again from her grasp as she watched the glutinous mass slide down the glass.

Small pieces of a hard white material liberally mixed with saliva and a greenish substance Eames would prefer not to know what it was. Or where it came from as Goren resisted examination himself and instead threw himself back in his chair and reached for a beer bottle.

"You were tossing peanuts in the air and catching them in your mouth again weren't you Bobby?" she said quickly working out what happened.

"Was not" he croaked his attention back on the screen in front of him and lying through his back teeth. Back teeth whose fillings he was sure had been loosened by the coughing.

Eames rolled her eyes so much she was in danger of needing ophthalmic help herself and left the workroom muttering.

"I hate the Super Bowl" she hissed.

The only upside for her was that during that struggle with Goren she had touched down firmly in his personal end zone. And a very nice one it was too. She'd leave it to him to decide if it was by accident or design.

_**AN : As must you dear reader…if y'all want to know about the "blue towel" you will need to read "The Sights You See When You Don't Have A Gun"**_


	9. A Very, Very Happy Birthday

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…of course they sent for the cops…"Shirt and shoes must be worn" does not mean you are excused pants…I'll be along with the bail money later…I'm busy right now…)_

_**Bobby is determined to get the right birthday present for Alex… **_

**A VERY, VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY**

Every year Bobby Goren struggled to know what to get his partner Alex Eames for her birthday. To get right the balance between something "_personal",_ which showed he had given it thought and not being too _"mundane"_, which ruled out things from his favourite hardware stores.

As the month began, he started to pay rather closer attention to some things she said as they went about their daily routine. Trying to pick up a clue to what Eames might need or want so at least the gift would be practical or useful. But he'd no intention of buying that leather sofa she _"loved"_ in _Macy's _window. For one thing it was far too large to fit in her small apartment and for another, gift-wrapping it neatly would be impossible.

Similarly, something as a _"treat"_ wasn't about to stretch as far as a _"World Cruise on the QE2"_ even if the travel agent they visited to question a witness was doing _"amazing discounts"_. The money wasn't so much the issue, as the fact Bobby didn't want to be stuck with another partner for the four months she would be gone.

He didn't much like _"eavesdropping"_ but every conversation Eames was having on the phone or in the hallways had his ears _"pricking up",_ metaphorically speaking. And in the end it was a discussion she was having at the lunch table with some of the other female detectives that offered the best clue.

Bobby had some doubts about whether it was entirely an appropriate gift to get a co-worker, never mind that Eames even wanted one. But at a loss to know what else to get he went off to find a supplier. Listened carefully to the expert advice he was offered by the clerk in the store, since it was something outside his own experience to know which was best, and took it home.

It took him almost half an hour to do the gift-wrapping just right. Even with a pair of left handed scissors to help him with the pink paper and ribbon he thought Eames would like. And then with her birthday on a Saturday this year, he sort of teased her a little by not taking it to 1PP with him the day before.

Instead, he got up very early that morning, drove to her apartment and left the package outside the door with her birthday card. Bobby was slightly surprised to not get a call from Alex over the whole weekend to thank him, even though she was having a big family party for the occasion might have kept her busy.

**Monday Morning**

When Eames arrived she was close to half an hour late as she sat at her desk with a yawn.

"Good weekend?" Bobby asked rather hurt she'd not been in touch with him. It would have been good manners if nothing else.

"Wonderful" she sighed with a grin. "Thanks to you Bobby and your birthday gift. Touch of genius from you yet again"

Bobby felt his face flush. "I hope it…just um…I overheard you say…otherwise I wouldn't have…er…but"

"It was kind of embarrassing to open in front of my family I'll admit" she shrugged "And it wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted a rabbit. But it says an awful lot about how your mind works Goren"

"Oh shit" blushed Bobby at the sudden realisation he should have gone to a pet store.

_**AN: **__Can you just imagine Bobby at the store and all the questions he'd want answered before making a decision which one to buy??? Heck that would be a story in its own right…hmmm…_


	10. The Pilgrim Father

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching those limits and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…oh for goodness sake…give me the gun…it will be New Year before you manage to hit one of those turkeys)_

**THE PILGRIM FATHER**

Bobby Goren shoved the heavy tray containing the Thanksgiving meat into the stove and shut the door. It was still dark outside but if that was going to be cooked right through it needed to be started early.

He was still unsure if his experiment with goose, quail and pheasant was going to work but he was weary of the same thing each year. _"Quapheasoose"_ didn't roll off the tongue quite so easily as _"turducken"_ when it came to pronunciation, but hopefully it would when eaten.

Bobby went into the dining room knowing it too early to set the table but thinking he might do a little more of his model of _"The Mayflower"_. He'd been bought the kit when he was about ten years old and still hadn't managed to complete it.

He only got it out each Thanksgiving and somehow other things, like more pumpkin pie or the football game, seemed to get in the way. Last year he only glued about two deck planks into place before he became distracted.

There was also a certain irony when you knew half the people who sailed on her were dead inside the first six months. But then it was probably rather short sighted to set out to found a new colony with a ship loaded down with shoemakers, printers, schoolteachers and shopkeepers. And barely a one knew how to build, fish or farm.

Bobby looked at the instructions for the rear deck and remembered what diverted his attention from _"The Mayflower"_ last year. From a second helping of pumpkin pie, the dishes and the football game. He got up, walked along the hall and peeked into the second door on the left.

His son fast coming up thirteen weeks old was sleeping peacefully in his crib. Much more fun to create than a dumb old model ship and what he was _"giving thanks"_ for this year. _"The Mayflower"_ could wait a few more years. Until he was old enough for them to finish it together.

Now fatherhood really was a voyage of discovery into an unknown, strange, sometimes scary but wonderful _"New World"._

_**AN:**__** Sniffs and dries eyes…**_

_**AN:**__** For those not familiar…"turducken" is something some people in the US cook at Thanksgiving. You stuff a chicken inside a duck which you then insert into a turkey…however…you need to set it off to cook around Halloween…unless you have a lot of guests…in which case I used to start mine on Labor Day! **_


	11. Diamonds Are Forever

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…okay wear the Indiana Jones costume if you must but be more careful with the whip this time)_

_**It's Valentine's so for all those waited for me to do B/A ship…read on… **_

_**DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER**_

Alex woke with a smile on her face. And why not? It had been a perfect evening. From the moment Bobby sent a cab to collect her from her apartment to the realisation they were both drifting off to sleep with their limbs still tangled around each other's.

The candlelit meal at _Amando's _was delicious and Bobby had fed her tortellini before leaning over the table to kiss the trace of sauce left on her lips. His voice low and seductive and for once not talking about work as he complemented her dress and her hair. Those dark eyed and lingering glances at her cleavage sending colder shivers down her spine than the melon glace dessert had done.

As his hand curled around the bottle to pour her more champagne Alex had almost needed to grab the ice from the bucket to cool herself down. At the thought of how that hand might feel later. Sliding down parts of her body and curling round others.

She could see from his eyes Bobby was thinking and reacting much the same when she invited him home for coffee. The way he kept the napkin firmly over his lap as the waiter approached for one. But him ordering coffee sounded the one disappointing note of the evening and for a fraction of a second Alex began to get annoyed.

When Bobby insisted on passing the small plate of chocolate mints across to her. He knew she didn't like them and she was more anxious by then to taste the remnants of carbonara in his mouth. At least until she saw, amid the dark chocolates, the dark blue velvet box he must have _"palmed"_ into the dish.

And his voice. Soft and slightly hesitant as he asked her the question. Before adding the word _"please"_ like a small child remembering his manners. His fingers twisted in a tight ball of mild anxiety and trying hard to resist chewing on the tip of his thumb.

The ring was beautiful. Around three carats Alex could not stop herself from estimating and it was a perfect fit as he slid it carefully onto her finger. After she said yes. Having paused fractionally for the sake of politeness.

Diamonds are forever and Alex did feel slightly guilty. For admiring how they looked on her hand over Bobby's shoulder as he nuzzled her neck in the cab on the way back to her place. Would have nuzzled other places too until she pointed out to him the driver was enjoying the whole thing almost as much as them via the rear view.

Diamonds are forever and at times their size was a little dangerous. The ring caught in the elastic at the back of Bobby's shorts as she had eased them down and plucked a few hairs from somewhere made him wince briefly. Not that she had needed urging or encouragement from him to _"kiss the spot better"._

Diamonds are forever and maybe they were something of an aphrodisiac too. The sex had never been better or lasted so long. Their multifaceted faces possibly leaving tiny marks on Bobby's chest and back as his body took hers to every palace of pleasure. And then some.

Alex was sure if she looked there would be cabochon cut dimples in his right buttock where she had grabbed him at one of several critical moments. Bobby had always responded well to encouragement and as she wriggled in the rumpled sheets, Alex knew she now had years of this to look forward to.

Perhaps it was her moving but still asleep, his head half on her shoulder, Bobby moved. To sigh _"I love you"_ between a mouthful of her neck and a gentle cup of her breast. Before he rolled on his other side.

Alex glanced at the clock, surprised how early it still was and deciding she could not wait to break the news of their engagement. She slid out of the bed, grabbed her bathrobe and went to the phone in the hall.

"_Yeah?"_ the voice on the other end sounded irritable when it finally answered.

"I just wanted you know Bobby and I got engaged" Alex thrilled. "To be married"

"_That's what it usually means Eames"_ muttered Goren. _"Congratulations. To you and Sergeant Robert Jameson"_

"You busy right now? Only I'd like to run a few plans by you…"

_"I'm having a sandwich Eames. I'll call you back. In the morning"_

With that Alex was left with the dialling tone in her ear and a disappointed expression on her face. Before it changed to a smile as she admired the diamonds on her left hand. Again.

"Now where were we?" Goren grinned.

The blonde to his left and the brunette to his right wasted little time in reminding him.

_**AN: If y'all expected the real deal you ain't been round here very long have you…mwahahaha.**_


	12. Santa's Not So Little Helper

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…I warned you that chimney was far too narrow so don't blame me if it's more than chestnuts getting roasted now…)_

_**As the annual round of office Christmas Parties gets under way, Bobby is not looking forward to the one at 1PP this year…**_

**SANTA'S NOT SO LITTLE HELPER**

Bobby opened his apartment door. Alex had been knocking for ten minutes, the neighbours would soon be wondering what all the noise was about and she might have her spare key. And bolt cutters to deal with the chain.

She stepped through with a glare at him sufficient to turn a man to stone. And wither with sheer terror, the parts of the anatomy most obviously marked you out as male.

"Why aren't you changed yet?" she demanded to know.

"I'm sick. The flu" he croaked. Hopefully, in a very convincing way.

"One that suddenly came on in the hour since I dropped you off, I suppose?"

There was an unpromising tone of scepticism in her voice had Bobby wondering if he was losing his ability to _"sell a story"_.

"I'll check you know" Alex went on. "Get the thermometer from the bathroom? So which is it to be?"

"I'll go get dressed" he muttered slinking off in the direction of his bedroom.

Alex waited for the door to shut behind Bobby. Slightly disappointed, thinking of some of places you could accurately take a temperature reading with a mercury thermometer. But doubting whether her partner would meekly submit to her putting the instrument anywhere near some of them. And whether she could hold Bobby down to do it, if he didn't.

Alex went into the kitchen and got her make up bag from her purse. Goren was being very difficult about the _1PP Christmas Party_ this year. Like a sulky brat at the costume hire shop earlier. Though that was his own fault. For having such big feet they always had trouble finding anything to fit him.

As she put a few things out on the table, Alex wondered whether she could also engineer some kind of _"accident"_ to _Claire _while she was here. That slut of a cookie jar grinning seductively on the counter that Bobby had bought to replace _Clara. _It took her almost two years to finally dispose of her. And at least _Clara _had the excuse of being a cow to not be wearing any panties. Instead, she filled the time checking the trash, cupboards and the icebox for any evidence he might, unknown to her, be cooking for two these days.

Hearing a tinkling sound she turned to see Bobby at the door. Glowering, as he pulled on the second of the green, curly toed shoes with bells at the end.

"These are pinching" he complained, pulling on the hem of the short blue and gold striped tunic.

But too late to stop Alex concluding it wasn't only his toes overly confined, as the red tights he was wearing left little to the imagination. Though _"little"_ was probably the wrong adjective to use for what drew her attention and you didn't need an especially active _"imagination"._

"Sit down" she said. "I'll do your make up. At least try to get yourself in an elf frame of mind Bobby"

"And how does one do that Alex?" he asked with a wince had nothing to do with the ridiculous shoes. "Find a basidiomycetous fungus to sit on?"

"Stop showing off" Alex snapped reaching for red lipstick and putting some in a circular pattern on his right cheek. "It's your own fault they won't let you be Santa again this year"

"How was I to know that girl was the Captain's sister?" he muttered. "She was over 21. I checked her ID before I let her onto my lap"

"I should damn well hope so given what she was doing in it when he found the pair of you. Sit still"

Alex turned Bobby's head none too gently to make his left cheek suitably _"rosy"._

"Someone must have spiked my punch" Bobby growled. "Never did find out who did that"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know" Alex lied glibly, handing him his elf hat with the jaunty feather.

She had an entirely different strategy to try to make sure she got an early Christmas present this year...

_**AN ;**__** Remember it's not the rocking around the Christmas tree that wears you out…it's what you get up to under it…I must go…Bobby's just tying a ribbon round an early gift for me… **_


	13. Just A Box Of Cherry Creams

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ These stories are not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and that St Valentine got his head cut off…but it won't be that part of you I chop off if you don't put that away right now…)_

_**Bobby's romantic gesture goes wrong…now there's a surprise…a heart shaped Drabble tied in red ribbon…**_

**LOVE IS JUST A BOX OF CHERRY CREAMS**

"Thank you Bobby"

"Excuse me?"

"For these" Eames popped another chocolate in her mouth and gestured to the large bouquet. "Happy Valentine's"

"You're w…welcome" stuttered Goren opening the card she handed him. "Thank you Alex"

Ten minutes later he was inside the restrooms making two calls. To replace the flowers and cherry creams.

_But what to do for the best?_

Tell Eames he only left those things on her desk while he collected a fax message? Or risk Gina in Personnel getting to hear he gave another woman gifts and misunderstanding the situation?

_Either way he was a dead man._

_**AN :**__** I throw up a box of cherry creams just thinking about "Forrest Gump"...Happy Valentine's or better yet...Fun Valentine's ;)**_


	14. Dirty Alex

_**Disclaimer: **__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…now please get out of that chick costume...it does nothing for me and y'all moulting feathers everywhere)_

**Some seasonal silliness...**

_**DIRTY ALEX**_

As she approached the door, Eames felt in her gut there would be big trouble waiting for her on the other side. Resisting the temptation to kick it down, she burst through, her right hand close to her hip and her gun.

"Don't move scumbag!!" she yelled at the perp who almost jumped out of his shorts with horrified surprise.

Those hours spent in front of the mirror practising a _"fast draw"_ paid off as her gun was out and levelled at his head in a nanosecond. Though she would deny until the day the devil skated to work she ever did that.

"Got ya red-handed" Eames snapped as the thief made a feeble attempt to hide his ill gotten gains behind his back.

She saw in his eyes what he was thinking. The way they flickered to the door on the other side of the room. Wondering if he could make it through before she shot him.

Eames gestured fractionally with the barrel of her weapon before locking it tight again in the double handed grip.

"Do ya feel lucky punk?" she asked, trying to recall why her words sounded familiar. "This may not be the most powerful handgun in the world but you'll be singing soprano before you make it to that door"

The bad guy's head dropped slightly in a gesture of surrender.

"Okay" Eames barked. "Now put it down. Slowly. No sudden moves. And keep those hands where I can see them!"

She watched the body language, not the object as he placed it carefully on the table, letting it go with an exaggerated motion and then putting his hands in the air.

"Turn around dirtbag" ordered Eames "And get over there"

The direction was emphasised with a little waggle of her gun as he did as he was told. Finally she holstered the weapon.

Bobby slumped in his seat with a sigh of relief and the rest of the Squad Room relaxed as his partner sat at her desk.

"Try stealing my giant Easter Egg again Goren and I swear you'll be a dead man" Alex muttered as she turned to her computer.

He opened his folder, crossed _"Plan D"_ from the list and began to think about _"E"._

_**AN: And yeah Goren I know the word for a male bird too...there was no need to show me...on the other hand...**_


	15. Venicide

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ These stories are not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron...I told you those stockings were hanging too close to the fire...now go call the Fire Department)_

**For everyone who wants Bobby Goren wearing nothing but fur handcuffs for Christmas....**

_**VENICIDE**_

Twas the night before Christmas, the city was waiting

For St Nick's call, much anticipating.

When from Central Park

Came a scream in the dark

Enough to set all ears a grating.

For the old guy in red

Was surrounded by dead

And kids nearby were awaking.

_As the people all called "nine one one"_

_Came the last sound from a powerful gun._

_And fell down did Dancer_

_On top of poor Prancer_

_Marking the end of seasonal fun._

_For I kid you not_

_All the reindeer were shot_

_Even Dasher got no chance to run._

When the cops came, Ross took charge of the scene

Told others to find a guy "armed and real mean"

Though one stopped to vomit

On what was left of young Comet

This was real, not just a bad dream.

Ross turned to those abler

In Benson and Stabler

With them he had a good team.

_But Ross's hopes were soon fast sinking_

_When he realised Liv had been drinking,_

_Over Blitzen she frowned_

_Then sank to ground,_

_With tears she was rapidly blinking._

_So obsessed with her past_

_The victims came last_

_Of lost love was all she was thinking._

For the object of her obsession

Was fixed on his favourite possession.

His latest tattoo

Was of Mr Magoo

Can't say where because of discretion.

Stabler not hit by Cupid's dart

He fell over the reindeer's heart

As CSI arrived in a procession.

_"Now this is a thought just idle"_

_Said that dame more annoying than Siddle._

_With her Medusan hair_

_She waved at the air_

_"Could these deer have been suicidal?"_

_"You're on the wrong track"_

_Honked the one they call Mack_

_With that tone as ever adenoidal._

Ross rolled his eyes at this hopeless bunch

As from bushes came Finn and John Munch

"We found dear old Donna

I fear she's a gonna"

And another cop upchucked his late lunch.

Amid dead cervidae

Ross let out a cry

"Where are those I need in a crunch?"

_Mike Logan was nowhere in sight_

_He'd vanished into the night_

_Leaving Ross counting cost_

_Of partners he'd lost_

_And Vixen giving up her fight._

_In the park nothing glowed_

_Not even a red nose_

_Rudolph the way could not light_.

This was stuff of nightmare not dreams

Where was Goren and his partner Eames?

Then Ross slipped in the mud

And the caribou blood

Went over his new denim jeans.

They'd have the answer

To who killed Dancer

But is everything just as it seems?

_Could they be together our two?_

_Locked so tight one might suspect glue?_

_No grunting just groaning_

_With much wistful moaning._

_Have I turned shipper out of the blue?_

_While some may be hoping_

_For angst and mild groping_

_You know that's not what I do._

The truth it will be so hard to bear

But I have the proof, this I can swear

The fact I cannot stifle

T'was Bob had the rifle

He shot Rudolph and Co with great care.

Nor is Eames as white as snow

With him she did happily go

Was her field glasses left behind there.

_So as you put up your Yuletide tree_

_Think of Goren and Eames and of me_

_Eating pies made of Blitzen_

_And steaks cut from Vixen._

_Is that Comet cutlets I see?_

_When comes the New Year_

_We'll be right out of deer_

_Only Donna kebabs left for tea._

Some may think this a tale that's not sunny

Verging on sick and not very funny.

But in two thousand and ten

See what we three do then.

As we track down the Easter Bunny.

_**AN:**__ With best wishes for 2010 to all the CI lovers and lovers of CI. _


End file.
